Work Text:
Okita Soji, perhaps, has had one too many.
The table in front of him is littered with empty sake bottles—though he’d be hard-pressed to say if there are ten, twenty, or even double that—and everything’s kind of… swimming.
Or maybe it’s him. Maybe he’s the one sailing across the open sea, on a giant ship called the Shinsengumi—but not like them black ships, bigger and better—rocking from side to side… Side to side and back and forth… Yeah. That’s it.
There’s one thing, however, that keeps Okita from letting himself drift too far away, one someone keeping him firmly anchored to the moment. Someone rock solid.
“Okita.”
When he looks up, it’s Saito Hajime grinning at him from mere inches away, and the distance between them seems to be shrinking by the second. In fact… “Oi, Hajime-chan!?”
Okita reaches out a hand and slams it into Saito’s chest just in time to prevent the other man from losing his balance entirely and crashing face-first into him. Not that Okita would particularly mind — Saito’s welcome in his personal space anytime, especially—
Mm. His train of thought disintegrates when he notices how Saito’s sun-kissed skin feels under his fingertips. It’s soft and flushed and a little damp with sweat, and it makes Okita want to find out if the rest of him feels just as luxurious to the touch. He shifts his gaze slightly upwards to observe Saito’s expression, but keeps his hand where it is.
Saito doesn’t ease his weight off Okita. Instead, he licks his lips in one agonizingly slow movement, and Okita suddenly wonders if he’s trying to be cocky or smug or something else along those lines. Fucker.
At the same time, it’s hard to fault Saito for anything when he’s got his big, brown eyes trained on Okita’s, got his soft breaths fanning over Okita’s cheeks. There’s a special Hajime-chan kind of intensity to it, as if he’s trying to communicate something with his gaze alone: I’m glad you’re here with me. Thank you.
“Okita…”
“Yes?” His voice comes out high-pitched and a little wobbly.
“I’m glad you’re here with me. Thank you.”
“Hajime-chan…” This time, it’s Okita who licks his lips.
They’re still close, so very close, and Okita’s hand remains up — he’s still holding up Saito, whose center of gravity seems to be determined to barrel right into Okita’s own core. His fingers twitch, and for a second, he considers just giving up and letting Saito do as he likes. More than anything, he’s itching to know just what he’d like to do. Maybe it’s finally time to satisfy that curiosity; it’s been long enough.
“Oi, Soji.”
Shinpachi? Okita takes a while to figure out where the voice is coming from, reluctant to move his eye off of Saito and go through all the trouble of refocusing it elsewhere, but he knows it’s Nagakura.
“Soji, please. We’re in public.”
There. Okita’s eye eventually finds Nagakura across from them at the table, leaning onto his elbows with an uncharacteristically weary look on his face. “Shinpacchan?”
“Nagakura,” acknowledges Saito with a friendly smile, though he doesn’t place any distance between Okita and himself.
And there’s no reason he should. They’re fine like this.
“Here,” says Nagakura, sliding two cups across the table. “Have some water. I think you’ve had enough.”
“Haw?” It’s not that Okita needs to make a scene right now, but he finds the temptation hard to resist. “Tryna imply I can’t hold my liquor!?”
Suddenly, the pressure against his palm disappears, and when he looks over, Saito’s attention has moved onto something else.
“Thanks, Nagakura,” says Saito, grabbing a cup. He tips his head back and gulps down its contents in one go, but doesn’t quite make it: a little water escapes to dribble down his chin and onto his ample chest.
Okita can’t tear his eye away.
When his attention refocuses on his friend across the table, Nagakura is shaking his head. He pours himself another serving of sake and turns around to watch something louder happening across the yard, but Okita doesn’t have time to check it out. He’s got far more important things to attend to.
“Okita.”
“Hm?”
Saito’s smiling again, tugging his kimono out of the way as he wipes up the droplets of water from his chest. He doesn’t break eye contact and Okita doesn’t either, even as his cheeks heat up and breaths speed up a little. He swallows.
“Hey, Okita.”
“Hajime-chan?”
Saito reaches behind him, and then turns back around holding a small cloth-covered package in a simple, rustic pattern. His fingers fumble with the knot for a few moments, but he manages to untie it without any further difficulty. Then he pulls open the fabric and inspects the contents. “Here. Try some.”
“Haw? Where’d ya get those?” Okita’s mouth drops open at the sight of the daifuku rice cake that Saito’s holding out.
“I made them myself,” Saito beams.
The daifuku looks great: snow-white and perfectly plump sitting in Saito’s hand. Mouthwatering. Okita reaches for it, intending to pick it up to take a bite, but Saito beats him to the punch. He leans into Okita again—just as close as before, if not closer—and brings the rice cake up to Okita’s lips with an expectant grin on his face.
Who’s Okita to say no to that? He leans in to take a small nibble, immediately following it up with a bigger bite.
“Mmh-fuck, Hajimmhm-chn!” Okita mumbles with his mouth full, before taking a few moments to chew and swallow. “‘S delicious!”
“I know,” nods Saito with a smug grin. “I practiced a lot.”
“Bet ya did!” Okita doesn’t look away as he cups a hand around Saito’s and brings it up to his mouth to finish off the rest of the treat.
Saito lets him. He even lets him suck the sticky mochi off his fingertips. There’s not much, but Okita makes sure to do a thorough job, taking his time to lick up every last remnant of rice flour from his thumb.
“Sorry to interrupt,” grunts Nagakura’s voice somewhere in his periphery. “I’m goin’ for a walk. You two’ll be fine?”
“We’ll be fine,” answers Saito, tightening his arm around Okita’s waist. When did it get there?
Nagakura hesitates a little, then chuckles. “Might wanna take the party back to your place,” he says, nodding in the direction of Saito’s assigned room. “Clear yer heads a lil’.”
“Shinpacchan, ya absolute genius! Whaddaya say, Hajime-chan? Wanna go someplace quieter?”
Saito nods and tugs at their joined hands, fingers now interlaced.
When Okita turns back to say something else, Nagakura’s gone.
* * *
They tumble into Saito’s room and slam the sliding door shut, dropping to the floor almost immediately when gravity proves to be more trouble than either of them is willing to put up with. They also don’t bother with the lantern — the light trickling through from the festivities outside is just enough to give the room a cozy glow.
Instead, Saito squirms a little and then lies flat on the tatami flooring, pulling Okita to hover over him.
“H-Hajime-chan?”
“That’s me.”
His lips are so close. Okita gives them a good, long look: they’re a little chapped and split from all the fighting Saito’s been doing around town, but still manage to be remarkably inviting. Pink, pretty, and so, so pouty.
Okita can’t resist. He leans down for a taste, running his tongue sideways across the subtle curve of Saito’s mouth before finally planting his lips on his. Just as he’d been expecting, Saito is pliant beneath him, opening up right away to let Okita’s tongue in on the action. And he tastes damn good.
Eager hands grab at Okita’s waist to pull him off balance—again—and Okita gives in. He rolls onto his side and intertwines his body with Saito’s as much as the laws of physics will allow, like some large, horny octopus. Saito, in turn, wraps an arm tight around Okita’s waist and kisses him deeper, while his fingers play with the sensitive skin at the nape of Okita’s neck. They take their time like this — exploring each other from a whole new angle and with a whole new purpose. Okita can’t get enough.
“Hajime-chan, I’m— Let me–” He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say, but he knows what he wants: the haori off and more of Saito’s bare skin against his.
Good thing Saito seems to be able to read his mind; he tears off their Shinsengumi uniforms in record time, wriggles out of the top of his kimono, and then gets started on the hakama, pausing to tug at Okita’s own to prompt him into action. Okita complies, and before any more unbearable seconds manage to pass he’s butt-naked and back on the tatami, waiting for Saito to do away with his fundoshi. He can’t see Saito all that well in the shadows with the way the two of them are angled, but the very next moment he comes back to kneel over Okita’s thighs, sporting an anticipatory grin on his face.
But nothing further happens.
Saito frowns in thought for a split second and then reaches over Okita to pull open the futon, nudging him in its direction. “C’mon. Lay back.”
“I don’t– Wait, why?” He sits up. “Whatcha gonna—”
He doesn’t get to finish. Saito pushes him back onto the futon, and without any further delay wraps his lips—those same beautiful lips—around the head of his dick.
“Haj-Hajime-chan…!!”
After a long day of Saito’s bashful grins and touches and poorly-disguised stares, Okita’s building arousal hits him all at once. He gives a throaty gasp, but Saito pays him no mind, focused wholeheartedly on the task at hand as he takes more of Okita’s length into his mouth. The room is quiet, strikingly peaceful compared to the noise of the dinner party on the other side of the paper door; the only sounds are Saito’s moans and slurps as he puts his all into pleasuring Okita.
It’s almost too much. Okita knows that he won’t be able to hold out for much longer, at least not at the hungry pace Saito’s going, and so he squeaks out a warning and gives Saito’s hair a light tug.
But Saito doesn’t let up — at least not immediately. He pulls up a bit and sneaks in an enthusiastic swirl of tongue, which drains Okita of any desire he may have had to slow this down. At least not with the sight of Saito’s pretty mouth down there full of cock — his cock.
Then, Saito belatedly wraps his hands around the base and that’s what does Okita in. He tangles his fingers in Saito’s hair and lets the orgasm take over, allowing hot-white static to replace any semblance of conscious thought in his head. Of course, Saito doesn’t waste a single drop. He squeezes Okita’s free hand, while his other snakes down to palm at his own erection.
Once the last twitches of pleasure ripple through his system, it takes everything in Okita’s power not to close his eye and drift off, but he stays strong. “Eager, hm? Hajime-chan…” he pants out.
His only response is a frustrated grunt as Saito moves up to grace Okita with his body heat, curling around him to bury his face in his shoulder. The picture they make could almost be mistaken for a scene of lazy relaxation, if not for Saito’s thick cock pressed up to the side of Okita’s thigh, grinding against him in small, but endearingly determined movements. He plants his teeth on Okita’s shoulder and gives him a bite — slow and a little unsure, but hard enough to express his impatience.
Okita knows he won’t be able to deny him for much longer. He’s not quite ready to get down to business himself, but at least he can get some of the preparations out of the way, and maybe explore Saito’s wonder of a body while he’s at it. He whispers something about lube.
Before he can bat an eye, Saito’s hand is right there, already holding a small container of oil.
“How’d ya get that so fast?” Okita tries to tease.
Saito doesn’t respond. He makes a transparent attempt to resume his earlier activities, but Okita has other plans. He pushes Saito down onto the futon—mirroring how Saito had done it to him earlier—and then straddles his lap.
“Okita…?”
“Shh.”
Okita takes a moment to slide his hands up Saito’s sides and chest, all the way up to run a thumb across his jaw, satisfying some deep, physical curiosity that has been burning him up all week. The thick, powerful muscle is impressive on its own, but it’s the look Saito’s shooting in his direction that makes Okita’s breath hitch and his hands tremble. He’s biting the side of his mouth, looking up at Okita with a quiet, needy expression, and when his tongue darts out to swipe across his lips, Okita decides to give it something to do.
He grabs Saito by the jaw and leans down to cover his mouth with his own, licking and biting, first at that soft pink flesh that refuses to give him peace, and after that, everywhere else within reach. Saito moans and arches his back, which gives Okita even better access to his nipples; he brushes them with his palms, then his fingers, then his nails.
“O-Okita! Please—”
Then his tongue.
Saito bucks up underneath him and Okita’s suddenly glad he’s got the strength to keep him pinned in place. He wants the other man at his mercy, wants to drive him out of his mind and do it all over again tomorrow.
Then Saito curls a hand around his neck and pulls him down into another kiss, this one messier and more demanding than before, and Okita figures it’s been long enough.
He gives Saito’s dick a single slow stroke—which to Okita’s great satisfaction elicits a loud, shameless whine from the other man—and then finally gets to work preparing himself. Normally this doesn’t take him long at all, but he can’t deny that Saito’s impressive size gives him pause. He wants to take as much of him as possible, wants to savor every inch, and so he keeps working himself open, in the meantime distracting Saito from the wait with sloppy kisses up the column of his neck.
Once Okita deems the job done and the air’s thick with Saito’s desperation, he gives his dick a few more wet strokes and positions himself over it, making sure to take it slow despite wanting the exact opposite. Saito receives him with a soft groan, settling his hands on Okita’s hips to help guide the movement. Not that Okita needs his help: he’s taking Saito’s girth just fine, going slow, steady, until—
“H-Hajime-chan!!”
When Okita bottoms out, there’s a moment of tense stillness — neither of them dares to move, and so they remain as they are, watching each other wide-eyed and breathless.
Then Saito kisses him again. Sobs into his mouth. Clutches at his waist.
There’s even more tongue and even more whimpers, though this time, most of them come from Okita. He’s overwhelmed by the sensation of Saito filling him up here and there, this feeling of Saito everywhere, and if he grips his hair a little too hard as a result, it’s entirely unintentional.
But Saito doesn’t seem to mind. When they part and Okita sits back up, he’s got a dazed, lopsided smile on his face, chest heaving with deep, mostly-controlled breaths.
Okita takes it as a sign that it’s time to move. He begins to rock back and forth, writhing around until he feels comfortable enough to build some semblance of a rhythm, which they ride for a good long while. Saito’s hands don’t leave his hips until his movements begin to falter… and Saito jumps on the opportunity to take control.
He repositions the two of them so that Okita’s on his back again, and Okita finds that it hits the spot even better. He squirms harder, pants louder, comes almost all the way undone. He can’t get enough of Saito on top of him, Saito taking what he wants, Saito whispering endearments into his ear that are equal parts vulgar and hot and still somehow charming.
Saito’s close. Okita hears it in his shaky breaths, feels it in the way his hand twitches around Okita’s bicep. There’s one last whimper of Okita and then he’s spilling inside him, face buried in his chest.
Once Saito’s gasps die down to silence, he doesn’t leave Okita hanging, diving right down to take his long-neglected dick into his mouth. Okita whines and digs his nails into his shoulders, but none of it lasts very long: Saito gives the head a light suck and Okita comes on the spot, letting out a scream that’s far too loud for Saito’s modest little room.
The last thing he remembers is a whole lot of nothing: no more sounds and no more lights, neither here nor in the yard. Just Saito’s fussy, warm hands letting his hair loose in preparation for a long night’s rest.
It’s bound to be a good one.